


Light But Not Feathered

by voleuse



Category: Champions (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 09:02:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17040791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: What it meant or would mean was not yet fixed.“Champion” isn’t as much of a moving target as they think.





	Light But Not Feathered

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nope/gifts).



> No spoilers, but set early on in the series.

i. _the awesome weight of the world had not yet descended_  
Kamala entered the library with a sliver of hesitation. She’d been to plenty of libraries, of course--though not this one, in particular, nestled in the Rockies as it was--but never as Ms. Marvel. Never in costume. 

_Viv had called on a late Saturday afternoon, and Kamala had perked up, not hoping so much for an emergency as for a chance to connect with more people._

_“A cluster of posts on #champions mentioned you by name,” Viv said. “And included a number of emojis.”_

_“Not the poop one, right?” Kamala asked._

_“...” Viv responded. “Perhaps they mean it in a positive way?”_

There was only one librarian behind the reception desk, and she was helping a child check out a stack of _Elephant & Piggie_ books, so Kamala stood awkwardly in place for a minute, clasping her hands behind her back as she quelled the urge to whistle.

_"Do you even know how to pilot the ship?” Amadeus asked._

_“You’re telling me you don’t have auto-pilot for non-combat situations?” Kamala said._

_“That is NOT the POINT,” Amadeus said. “Superhero insurance is insane enough without unlicensed--”_

_“Seriously, we have superhero insurance?” Kamala said. “I want to know so many more things about that.”_

_“Ms. Marvel,” Amadeus started, and then a series of clanks interrupted him. “...you already took the ship, didn’t you?”_

_“Have I told you how awesomely accessible this ship is?” Kamala punched a couple more buttons. “Way easier than a Corolla. Anyway,” she said, “you’re the best, I’ll be back later, I don’t know how to gas the ship up, byeeeeeeee!”_

The kid noticed Kamala before the librarian did. “AHHHHH.” 

Kamala waved, and then the librarian saw her.

“Ah!” the librarian said. “The kids will be so thrilled to see you!”

“I’ll be thrilled to see them,” Kamala replied. “This is all so amazing. I want to sign up myself!”

“Oh, um,” the librarian said, then grabbed a clipboard off the top of a pile. “I guess you could fill out the form. For our numbers.”

Kamala took the form and grinned. “I’ll just skip the contact info,” she said, “and fill out the rest. Can I borrow a pen?”

And she wandered off to the youth area, to the tables circled underneath the banner, SUPERHERO FANFICTION LITERACY CHALLENGE. She already had a couple of ideas.

 

ii. _the silent crowd listened and dreamed_  
It was only after the motel fire had been quenched that Sam noticed how nervous the woman and her two kids seemed to be. Not the anxiety of having been in a fire--though there was that, too--but the wariness of people who don’t want to be seen.

Sam shook hands with the firefighters as they departed, and watched the family as they told the EMTs they were fine, really, no need for any check-ins, please, we appreciate it. He saw the glance between the EMTs and the officer on the scene, and he looked at the remnants of the motel room: two suitcases and a threadbare duffel bag. 

Sam glided over to them, making sure not to get too close as he landed. “Hey,” he said. “I’m Nova.”

The woman smiled tightly. “Uh, Le-- Liesa. I’m Liesa.” She touched each of her children on the shoulder. “Mikell. Julia.” The children bobbed their heads. “Thank you for your help.”

“What else can I do for you?” Sam asked. He turned at the sound of a car door slamming, and saw a news van had arrived. He looked back at the Liesa, and saw that she had paled, and her hands clenched on the children’s shoulders. “Hey,” he said.

“I can’t--” Liesa said, turning quickly away from the reporters. 

Sam reached out, not tapping her on the shoulder, but drawing her attention. “Do you have a car?” he asked.

Liesa nodded. “But he’ll recognize it, if he sees it.”

Sam thought this over, then caught the eye of one of the motel employees. “Hey, can I borrow your car?” he asked.

The man raised his eyebrows even as he handed over his keys. “Are you old enough to drive, Nova?”

Sam grinned. “Don’t need to be.” After grabbing their luggage, he ushered Liesa and the kids into the car and then gently, quickly, lifted it and bore them away from the scene.

Once they arrived at the shelter, Sam handed the keys to the car over to one of the volunteers, sharing the address of the motel with her. Liesa was watching the kids as they sipped hot chocolate, but she broke her attention away from them as Sam approached.

“Thank you,” she said. “For this. And for stopping the fire.” 

Sam offered his hand, and after a moment, Liesa took it, giving him a light handshake. “If you ever need anything,” he said, “give us a call.” He handed her the slip of cardstock with the Champions’ contact information. 

Liesa tucked the card into her pocket. “I will,” she promised, and Sam smiled, and leaped up, and flew away.

 

iii. _human beings ever tilt toward we_  
Miles thought it was kind of ironic that he had a hint of arachnophobia, even after everything. So when he walked straight into a giant cobweb while he was walking up from the cellar, he was proud that he only let out a startled, “Yarguehhhh.”

At the front of the store, Mrs. Chan paused in her sorting to call out to him. “You all right, young man?”

Miles swiped at the cobwebs coating his costume with one hand while he balanced three boxes of vinyl records with the other. “No worries, Mrs. Chan.” He set the boxes next to the book table, arranging them so they would be easy to peruse. 

She tottered over to pat Miles on the shoulder, and he sort of regretted she couldn’t see him smile through his mask. “I’m sure you have better things to do,” she said. She looked away. “My Victor always said such good things about you and your hero friends.”

“I’m happy to help.” Miles watched her blink tears away, and in his own mind, he pictured Mr. Chan, waving at him as he swung past their storefront. “He was always really nice to me.” He tapped his fingers against the table. “Even gave me a couple of jazz records, once.”

“He really liked you.” Mrs. Chan cleared her throat. “Even before you stopped those men from breaking our windows.” She ambled toward the back of the store. “Can I make you some tea?”

“Sure thing, Mrs. Chan,” Miles replied. “But let me grab some more boxes for you, first.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title, summary, and headings adapted from Elizabeth Alexander’s “[Rally](https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/rally).”


End file.
